A Haven In New York
by SALJStella
Summary: A remake of my fic Comforting Adam, but from another perspective. No one needs to show Diana what love is. She's seen it with her own two eyes. AdamLawrence.


**A/N: I don't know what's been happening to me lately… But I've started to get this obsession over writing about the Gordon family… And in this fic, I deal with my other fic, Comforting Adam, from Diana's POV! Hope it's good…**

**A Haven In New York**

Sometime, I got the idea that I'd ask mom what she thought about Adam.

I was just a kid. Maybe ten. And I remember that mom sat next to me with a glass of wine, we watched a news rapport about Jigsaw, they'd just caught him. I sat next to mom, we stared into the TV without really seeing it, since I knew that we both suddenly were filled with that strange feeling that's slowly faded away over time.

_I could've died. _

_The man on TV_ _is in handcuffs now, he's tucked away like a dirty little secret, so I'm safe, I'm safe now, but I could've died. He could've killed me. _

And I thought about Adam. Isn't that weird?

I thought about his crooked smile. His insecure mumbling when I met him at the hospital afterwards, how his pale cheeks blushed when he saw me, how he raised his hands in some sort of half-hearted wave. _"Hey there…"_

And I looked and mom. And I asked her.

"Mom, do you like Adam?"

She chuckled, so bitterly that not even I could avoid hearing it, and took another sip of her wine. Mom has always been a bit rejecting when it comes to everything but me, but now, it really felt like she got coated with a thin layer of ice, so that it crackled in her frozen joints when she took the glass away from her lips.

"I think he's an unsuccessful, immoral, useless waste of space," she said, still in a tone like she was talking about the weather, cold and declining, totally calm, so inhumanly calm and still.

Keep in mind that this was still a time when I'd just met Adam. I didn't love him the way I do now, but I'd still met him. And I'm going to be honest with you: One single encounter, _thirty_ _seconds_ with Adam Faulkner is enough to learn that none of the stuff that mom said were true.

Well, yeah, they're true. But he's still loveable.

Either way, I was still in an easily afflicted age when mom said this. So this hurt me. As I said, I didn't really know Adam at the time, but I know that he was the one who saved dad from the bad man, and by this, saved mom and me, too. And it's possible that mom either saw how these words affected me, or she just realized how far away from the truth they were, because a small compliment actually crept out from that ice shell when she put her glass back down on the coffee table.

"But your father is happier with him that he ever was with me."

She was right. She really was.

I love my father. I always have. And he loves me, which he's showed, all the time, during all my childhood.

But all the while, he's sort of been… _Half. _

He's always been a loving father. But something has been missing from him. I don't know if he knew it himself, but despite all his money, his important job and his big apartment, he's been uncompleted.

It's probably love he's been missing. I've always loved him.

But all people need closure. Trust. Human touch.

Everyone needs that kind of love that no daughter in the world can offer.

And now, dad's got Adam.

And I've never seen him happier than now.

I love Adam, too. Of course. He's the one who's taught me about flowers and bees, taught me about being sarcastic, the one who taught me how to curse and how to fight. And how to make pancakes. But no matter how much I love him, no matter how much I love any man I'll ever meet, I'll never really understand the meaning of his and dad's relationship.

I was ten years old the first time I saw them kissing. I hadn't really understood that they were more than friends before, even though I'd already lived with Adam every other week for a year by then, but I probably thought that was because mom couldn't cure dad's nightmares.

Adam could, though.

Anyway, I was ten years old, and _I'd _just had a nightmare. So I padded out of Adam's darkroom, where I slept on a mattress on the floor, through the living room and up to Adam's bedroom door.

I really remember that night. Clearly. I remember how the pale moon light mixed with the red in the darkroom and painted the pictures on the walls in a weird, almost pink shade. And I remember how I just opened the door slightly instead of going in there straight away.

Maybe I knew, on some level, that I'd witness one of those subtle proves that Adam would never disappear from my life again.

Through the door, I saw Adam sitting on the edge of his bed. He had his hand over his eyes, but even in the darkness, I could see his jaw clenching, his hand tremble, his dark hair sticking together with sweat.

For a while, I thought he was alone. Until I saw dad sitting up behind him.

"Adam…" He mumbled and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, come on," Adam cut him off and gestured emptily with the hand he'd had over his eyes. "It was just…"

"A nightmare, yes," dad interrupted. "Adam, can't you just…"

"For fucks sake!" Adam cut him off again, like neither one of them really wanted to hear what the other had to say that night, like they didn't really want to realize that they wouldn't be able to live without each other again. "Are you playing doctor Phil, or…"

And then, he shut up. Dad didn't have to cut him off.

I was so tiny back them. So stupid and so childish.

I didn't really get that he was crying until he put his hand back over his eyes, his shoulders started shaking, and dad moved closer to him and put both arms around his waist.

"Lawrence…" Adam said in a voice I'd never heard him use before, all thick, like he had ice cream stuck in his throat. "I'm back in that fucking room…"

"No, you're not," dad said, and he sounded just like he did when I came to him in the middle of the night, in my pink little nightgown. "You're here. With me."

Then, he leaned forward, blocking Adam's face with his own. But not even I was so childish that I didn't understand that they were kissing. Because Adam's hand went from his eyes to the back of dad's head, his slim fingers raked though his hair. And even though I'm pretty sure they fell asleep after that, I closed the door and walked back to the darkroom.

My own nightmare wasn't as important anymore.

Plus, I wasn't meant to see that. That moment was their own, their longing, their love, their suffering, their tears. Only theirs. It didn't belong to anyone else.

I don't think they saw me that night. But it was still a turning point. It was after that night that they started to kiss more openly, like they weren't ashamed anymore. And by then, I already loved Adam, so the fact that I could see him as an extra dad when my own dad worked late wasn't a problem at all. If anything, it's a relief. I almost see Adam more than dad by now, simply because he's always home when I am, on the weekends, when dad works and I'm off school.

Then, I'm always with Adam. Even the weeks when I technically live at mom's, I tend to go to Adam's apartment, and he's always there, sits on the couch with a cigarette.

One of those times, when I was thirteen, I sat next to Adam on the couch, with my legs laying over his lap, and we watched 'West Side Story' for some reason that I can't remember.

The only thing I remember is that Adam opened his mouth at some point, slowly, without looking at me, but still purposefully, like he'd wanted to say this since the moment he met me:

"I wish they could make a movie about it."

I didn't have to ask to know what he meant.

"Why don't you talk to a producer?" I said. "They make movies on any story in Hollywood."

Adam scoffed and glanced over at me from the corner of his eye.

"You think those rich dudes would listen to me?"

When I didn't reply, he laughed hollowly and shook his head.

"Little girl. As stupid as your father."

I poked my heel into his stomach, and he laughed again, a little more vividly this time. I smiled weakly and kept watching the movie.

Watching the actors. Their pirouettes, their songs, their dialogue, their swirling dresses.

An actress. An eight year-old little girl. Being made up. Memorizing lines. Memorizing my words.

A director that teaches her how to act up the reason to why I still have nightmares.

No.

Never.

"I wouldn't like that," I said, and Adam still didn't look at me, even though I knew he listened to every word I said. "It was awful."

He didn't reply. Took a sip of his beer. And I suddenly felt that gun being pressed to my head, the stethoscope against my chest.

Not a movie. Never.

"How can you say that?" I burst out, almost angrily. "It was even worse for you! You…Dad shot you!"

Adam barely seemed to hear me. He was still silent, and for a while, I though he was going to pretend that nothing had happened, but then, he suddenly lifted my legs off his lap, put his beer on the coffee table and looked at me.

"Yeah," he said calmly.

His face was still blank. Almost peaceful. Even though we discussed something that had scarred him for life.

He'd never admit it. But it's true.

"It was even worse for me," Adam continued, slowly, but still firmly, and more importantly, more maturely than I've ever heard him talk, neither before nor since. "And it was terrible that it happened to you. But for me… Damn, I know it sounds fucked… But I'm sort of… _Glad _that it happened."

He paused. And I was just gaping.

I wasn't really surprised about what he said.

I was more surprised that he finally admitted it.

But on some level, I knew that he had to get it out at some point. And he'd never say it when dad could hear him.

"I still have nightmares about it," Adam continued, and he was still looking me in the eye, like he really wanted me to remember what he said. "And I'm still afraid of the dark like a fucking five year-old, but… Your dad…"

I chuckled.

Finally.

Stupid little Adam.

He really thought I hadn't realized this before. Even though anyone who saw him and dad together would see it.

"He's the best thing that's ever happened to me, Diana," Adam finished off.

My chuckling turned into a laugh.

"Why don't you tell him?"

Adam rolled his eyes theatrically, like he couldn't believe that he spent a Saturday night with this little moron.

"It's _me _we're talking about," he said and threw a hand against his own chest.

And he was Adam again.

I doubt that he's ever told dad how much he means to him. But dad's smart, he should be able to figure it out on his own. If a fourteen year-old can, a forty year-old should, too, right?

Although, if you asked Adam, he probably wouldn't admit it at all. And I don't even think he _wants _to need dad as much as he does, since he's so proud that it's ridiculous. In fact, once when I heard mom and dad fight, and mom asked what he even saw in Adam, dad just shrugged and said: _"He's proud and stupid and wonderful."_

That's true. In fact, it's Adam in a nutshell. Adam _is _proud, and he really is stupid if he thinks that people don't realize that he's in love.

Because you can tell. _Believe _me, you can tell.

For example, when I grow up, I'll know straight away when I've found the man I'm supposed to live with it.

Because I've seen love. I learned what it is at the age of nine. I just have to check if my boyfriend looks at me like Adam and dad look at each other.

Because when they look it each other… It's like nothing can come between them then.

It's like even if Jigsaw had killed him, it wouldn't have kept them apart. Like they would've woken up again, pale and bleeding, crying and hurting, but they still would've been together. Then. Now and forever.

There's nothing but love in their eyes when they look at each other.

It's not love in its purest form, it's love that's the product of something awful, it's like an amazing statue that's standing on a terrible foundation, on something black, cracked, stained with blood.

But it's love. It's love that stands above Jigsaw, above guns and bullets, above mom's spiteful looks. It's a feeling stronger than anything else, a feeling that engulfs them both, protects them from everything, forever.

**Fluffy, yes. But what would the world be without fluff? Anyway, review! **


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